


Make Your Own (Kind of) Music

by missbecky



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: 80s Music, Angst, Gen, Humor, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life on the Milano with the Guardians is sometimes like living in a musical.  With an 80s pop music soundtrack.</p><p>Or, four times Peter remembered music from his childhood, and one time he didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Your Own (Kind of) Music

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the song lyrics in this story are quoted wrong. This is entirely intentional. :-)

It's been twenty-five years – plus or minus two or three or maybe even four – since Peter was on Earth. He really doesn't know. Out in space, no one keeps the same time. Every planet has their own definition of an hour, a day, a month, a year. Life on a spaceship isn't much better. Which planet's day do you keep? How long is a day cycle? And for that matter, how long is a year?

The point is, it's been a really long time since Peter was on Earth, which means he's got a spotty memory when it comes to remembering what his life was like back then. He does his best, though, and some things are easier to remember than others.

Like Earth music.

He's got an entire collection of songs that's stored only in his head. Most of them are incomplete; he tends to remember choruses better than anything else. And even then he knows he's got the words wrong on a lot of them. He's pretty sure, for instance, that the Michael Jackson song doesn't actually go, "Just beat it, beat it, knowing on you're feet it, feet it."

But that's all he's got, so that's what he sings.

He sings a lot nowadays. He didn't used to, back when he was still just a Ravager under Yondu's thumb like the rest of them. Once he got away though, and the Milano was truly his own, he rediscovered his voice. At first it was a way to combat the isolation of space and deal with the sudden vacuum of solitude that surrounded him after growing up among the Ravagers, where privacy was a word unheard of. But after a while, it got to be something more fun, and a way to reconnect both with his mom and with Earth.

So he sings as he sits in the cockpit and gazes out into the beauty of space. He sings under his breath as he's down on the floor beside the engines, performing routine maintenance work. He sings as he's arming himself for the Guardians' latest adventure in saving the galaxy.

And sometimes he even dances a little – but only when no one can see. Like on this particularly fine morning (by the Milano's clock.) He's got that Michael Jackson song stuck in his head again, so he sings the words he knows, fudges others so he can round out the chorus, and he does a pretty passable moonwalk right out of the cockpit. It feels good, so he punctuates it on the downbeat with a sprightly little punching move.

Which is, of course, when he feels the eyes watching him.

He spins around on one heel (Michael Jackson would be proud) and sees Drax standing there. Arms folded. Face impassive.

"Um," Peter says.

"I did not mean to disturb your dancing," Drax says.

"No, no," Peter says quickly, because damnit. "Not dancing. Um, fighting. You know." He makes that lame little punching motion again, only this time he makes it look like he's actually hitting something.

Drax frowns. "If that is your fighting style, it is no wonder you told us once that you 'routinely get your ass kicked.'"

"That wasn't… You know, you shouldn't…" Peter gives up, because there's no way he's going to win this one.

"I will teach you," Drax says. He nods a little, as though sealing their deal.

Instantly Peter has visions of himself being thrown – literally – around the Milano. "Oh, I don't know," he says. "I wouldn't want to take up your time and all." Not that he really knows what Drax does with himself all day long, come to think of it.

"I would be pleased to educate you," Drax says. He smiles a little. "I believe with sufficient time, I could turn you into a warrior capable of surviving long enough for someone such as myself to come to your aid."

Peter glares. "Gee, thanks."

Drax's smile widens. As always, he completely misses the sarcasm in Peter's voice. "You are welcome," he says. "We will begin in one hour." He pauses. "You might wish to wear something you do not mind having torn or bloodied."

Peter just sighs and hopes he can remember where he last stored the Milano's medkit. 

****

The songs on the Awesome Mixes, Volumes 1 and now 2 don't exist strictly on cassette tape, of course. They're encoded on silvery discs and stored in the Milano's memory banks. But those things are just backups, should they ever become needed. Those things aren't the point.

The point is the Walkman, the weight of it on his belt, its battered edges and peeling blue paint. It's the scarily thin tape of the cassettes, and the thick spokes of the wheels as they spin, unfurling the magic of the sounds they contain.

Actually, the point is that Peter doesn't have much from his childhood or his mom or Earth. Which means he holds on tight to the few things he _does_ have. So when he goes down below one evening shortly after the events on Xandar, and finds Rocket curled up in a ball on the flannel shirt he was wearing when he was abducted, he goes a little crazy.

"What are you doing?" he shouts. "Get off that!"

Rocket lifts his head, blinking blearily, one half of his whiskers mashed flat in a way Peter normally finds extremely amusing. Today, though, he's having none of it. "Get off!"

"Huh?" Rocket says. He's doing that thing where he pretends to be half-asleep still, when in fact Peter knows perfectly well that he's totally alert.

He doesn't move, either.

"I said, _get off,_ " Peter says. The warning is clear in his voice. He's sure of that. What exactly he's warning, though, he isn't sure of. It's not like he can explain to someone like Rocket what the shirt means to him, and why he's preserved it all these years.

Rocket rolls his eyes – but he does move over. "It's not like _you_ were using it," he says.

"That doesn't matter," Peter snaps. He leans down and scoops the red-and-black shirt up. He checks it all over for tiny holes from Rocket's claws, and only relaxes when he doesn't find any.

"Stay out of my stuff," he says. He holds the shirt up high.

"Or what?" Rocket says, completely unfazed by his attitude. "You gonna take me on, little man?"

And just like that Peter has a sprightly piano melody stuck in his head, and words he hasn't thought of in years. He even vaguely remembers the music video, a wonder of animation seen at a friend's house, because his mom couldn't afford cable and MTV. He shimmies his hips a little in time with the beat, remembering just a little too late that the singer hits notes a lot higher than he can.

"Take me on," he sings. "Take on me, I'll be gone," and screw it. He just goes for it, belting out the note he can't reach in a jumble of meaningless sound because he can't remember the actual words.

Rocket cringes and covers his ears. "Okay, okay!" he yells. "I'll never do it again, just stop that, you're making my ears bleed!"

Peter stops singing. Score one for him, and there wasn't even any actual bloodshed. "And don't you forget it," he says smugly.

****

Gamora has more patience with him than she did when they first met, but even she has her limits. "I said, enough. I will not fall into your lap, Peter Quill."

"Aw, I know," he says. They're sitting in Starlins bar in Knowhere, waiting for Rocket to come back with the parts he needs to make…something that explodes. Probably. To be honest, Peter isn't really sure what Rocket's up to. All he knows for certain is that Rocket made it clear that no one else was invited to join him on his little trip. So Drax and Groot are still on the Milano, making sure it gets refueled and that nobody steals anything from it. Which leaves Peter and Gamora here in this bar where the drinks are expensive and surprisingly potent. 

"Then why do you persist in making advances?" Gamora asks.

Peter shrugs. He's at that stage where he's just about convinced that he's drunk, but then again, so is Gamora. Which is probably why she hasn't held her knife to his throat yet or threatened to stab his hand. "I dunno," he says. "It's just how I am."

He's vaguely aware that he's missing something important when it comes to relationships with women. When he bothers to think about it at all, which is pretty much never, he figures he's not doing too badly for a guy who never had a dad, and who spent years watching Yondu and the Ravagers treat women as little more than convenient one-night stands. So what if he flirts a little too much? It's how he's wired, apparently. And Gamora seems to know that he doesn't really mean anything by it, despite her protests. After all, he's still alive and in one piece.

He's never really had a best friend before, but he thinks he might be making one.

Gamora looks around, probably searching for any sign of Rocket returning. Their waiter catches her eye and interprets this to mean that they want another round of drinks – which he promptly brings. Gamora sighs in disgust, but that doesn't stop her from raising her glass and taking a drink.

"Oh well," Peter says. "When in Rome."

"What is Rome?" Gamora asks.

"It was an ancient city on Terra," Peter says. "Everyone wore togas. And they made really cool statues."

Gamora nods, encouraging him to continue.

"Uh," Peter says, because he's already scraped the bottom of the barrel of his knowledge about ancient Rome. "Oh! The Coliseum!"

Gamora blinks, slightly taken aback by his vehemence. "What was that?"

"That was where they had really cool concerts," Peter says. He remembers hearing commercials on the radio for rock concerts at the coliseum downtown, but of course he was too young to go. "Where they sang songs like…like…" He casts about for something to sing to Gamora, his drunken thoughts sliding easily from one association to the next, and it strikes him that he's sitting in a bar called Starlins in the middle of outer space, and the words just pop into his head.

"You must be my lucky star," he croons. "'Cause you shine on me wherever you are."

Gamora stares at him as if he's suddenly grown a second head.

Unfortunately those are the only words he can remember, so he sings them again. "That's by Madonna," he says. "Now there was a lady who could dance."

"Are you saying I cannot dance?" Gamora asks coolly.

Peter nods. "Oh yeah," he says, blithely unaware of the trap he's just stepped into. "Most definitely."

Gamora's jaw tightens, and too late he realizes the danger. He braces himself to get tossed onto his back on the table. Which he won't actually mind, as long as she takes up his challenge and proves that she can dance (because he knows she can, she is nothing but graceful).

But that's when Rocket suddenly shows up, running through the bar, shouting and waving a gun in one hand and something shiny and trailing wires in the other, with at least half a dozen angry guys chasing after him. And that's all the time Peter has for flirtation that night.

**** 

Groot has many admirable qualities, but maybe the best is the fact that he likes to dance. When he was still in his pot, he used to just sway back and forth and gyrate his arms around to the beat. Now that he's big enough to be walking around (but still not much taller than Peter), he makes up crazy dance moves all on his own.

"That's it," Peter encourages him. Today was a good day. For once they happened to be in the right place at the right time, and they saved a Shi'ar ambassador from an assassination attempt. They actually got paid this time for doing their job, which is good, but even better, the ambassador admitted to having heard of Star-Lord and the Guardians of the Galaxy before.

Word is getting around about them. It's a great feeling. 

Groot is still dancing, smiling with happiness. "Cut that out," Rocket complains. "You look stupid."

"No, he doesn't," Peter says. To Groot, he says, "You look great."

"Stop corrupting him," Rocket grumbles. He's grumpy - well, grumpier than usual, anyway - because Drax and Gamora didn't invite him to join the card game they're playing down below.

"Hey, it's not my fault if Groot is the only one around here who knows how to have fun," Peter says. He refuses to let Rocket's bad mood infect anyone else.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"Thank you!" Peter exclaims, as though Groot just agreed that he's the smartest, coolest guy in the entire galaxy. (Which is totally true anyway.)

Rocket utters a disgusted groan.

"Can you do this one?" Peter says. He puts one arm behind him, wrist and elbow bent, and the other in front of him in a mirrored pose. "Walk like an Egyptian!"

Groot complies as best he can; his arms don't really bend much yet, so he has trouble mimicking Peter's motions. But at least he tries, which is more than can be said for the others.

"All the cops in the donut shop say, way oh way oh ooh way way ohhhh," Peter sings, trading off arms as he struts around in his dance pose.

Behind him, Rocket groans again, louder this time. "Can someone tell me why we keep him around?" he asks no one in particular.

"I am Groot," says Groot.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rocket says dismissively.

"You're just jealous," Peter says.

"Jealous? Of what?" Rocket snaps. "You look like a colossal idiot, Quill."

The insult bounces harmlessly off his back. "Walk like an Egyptian," Peter sings soulfully, staring right into Rocket's eyes.

Rocket groans again, loudly and theatrically, like he's in mortal agony. He hops off the crate he was sitting on and goes below, taking his latest designer weapon with him.

Which leaves just Groot, looking at him expectantly, new growth spiking along his shoulders.

"Okay, this is a good one," Peter says. He backs up and turns to one side. "You need a little bit of a running start. And for the best effect you shouldn't wear any pants." He pauses, suddenly wondering if Groot ever wears clothes. Is he naked right now? Is he always naked? Do trees even wear clothes?

The mental image of Groot in a white dress shirt and socks makes him laugh. It's so stupid. The whole thing is stupid. But what the hell. He's got no one else he can teach this to.

"Okay, so you run in a little and then you slide…" He takes off his boots and then proceeds to demonstrate, sliding a good distance across the Milano's floor. "Then you spin around, like this."

And then he sings into his invisible microphone. "Just take those old records off the shelf! I shouldn't listen to them by myself. Today's music ain't got the same soul, I like that old time rock and roll."

Groot just smiles and sways to the beat.

****

There's a song on the Awesome Mix, Volume 2 called "Make Your Own Kind of Music" (Mama Cass, 1969). It's an upbeat song with a catchy melody, but more often than not, Peter finds himself skipping it when he's playing the tape. The lyrics are just too sad. _Sing your own special song,_ they say, and he remembers his mom singing that to him with a smile on her face. Usually that was when she would call him her little Star-Lord.

Because the thing is, he never did make a special song.

Peter remembers his grandpa, although not very well. He can't remember what he looked like anymore. Mostly he remembers the sound of his voice, and the smell of him. Grandpa always smelled like the woodshop in his basement, where he made chairs and cabinets and half the furniture in Peter's house.

He remembers Grandpa saying, _I got your back, Pete._ He was the only one who ever called him that.

He remembers sitting in the basement with Grandpa after his mom got sick. He was sitting on a stool at the high workbench and eating a grape Popsicle (he remembers the bright purple color, but not what "grape" actually tastes like). Grandpa said, "You like music, Pete. Why don't you write your mom a song? That would make her smile."

He remembers dropping the Popsicle and bursting into tears.

He never did write a song, mostly because Yondu stole his voice along the same time he stole _him_ away. And he knows he never will, because there isn't time for that kind of thing out here, and because he's forgotten too much.

But then sometimes he wonders.

Life on the Milano with the Guardians is sometimes like living in a musical. Groot carries the bass line, and flourishes of light and sound. Drax and Gamora's raised voices bicker and argue before the discordant notes of their clashing weapons as they spar. Rocket hums tunelessly as he puts together new weapons of mass destruction, accompanied by metallic rattles and clangs. The Milano's engines hum steadily as they fly deeper into space, where it is never actually silent, but full of strange beeps and flares that add to the song taking shape inside the ship.

Peter sits in the cockpit and he listens to the music they make.

And sometimes he sings.


End file.
